


enough language in your mouth

by pearwaldorf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Movie: Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Nightmares, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: Poe is there, and he’s next to the bed, and he’s holding Finn’s hand and failing not to cry. Finn squeezes back, and Poe says “Welcome back to the world, buddy” in a voice that shakes. Suddenly everything, including the pain, falls away, in the face of something else he’s discovered he knows.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longwhitecoats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/gifts).



> LWC, this has elements from the prompt you sent me ages ago, but bears no actual resemblance to the spirit thereof. I hope you enjoy it anyways. <3

When Finn wakes up, he knows Rey is gone. He doesn’t understand how, but it’s a certainty he feels bodily, like the ache that follows the gash down his back. But Poe is there, and he’s next to the bed, and he’s holding Finn’s hand and failing not to cry. Finn squeezes back, and Poe says “Welcome back to the world, buddy” in a voice that shakes. Suddenly everything, including the pain, falls away, in the face of something else he’s discovered he knows.

The recovery is what it is. Some days are better than others, and Poe is there for all of them. (Finn hears whispers about how many favors he’s traded in to stay on base. He also hears about other pilots who willingly take extra missions for Poe, and wonders if it would be proper to express gratitude to people he’s never even met.) He’s patient, encouraging; even when Finn is tired and pained and it makes him snappish. Eventually, there are more good days than bad, and Dr. Kalonia finally pronounces him well enough to leave the infirmary.

There’s still the question of where he’s going to stay, though. He supposes the quartermaster will find him a spot somewhere. The Resistance always seems to find room, a way to make do, if there’s need. (And there is so much need now that the Starkiller is gone, with both refugees and recruits swelling the population of the base.)

He’s eating lunch with Poe, and there’s a lull in the conversation and the meal. Poe’s got this look on his face, like he’s excited, maybe nervous. Finn supposes it could be both.

“I heard you still don’t have a room yet,” he says.

“That’s right.” This is not precisely true. He’s been shown a room that could be his if he wanted. Finn’s a little excited about having space of his own, but he thinks about the prospect of sleeping by himself, with no other people around, and it makes him feel lost, uneasy. He did enough of that in the infirmary, and found he didn’t like it at all.

“If you wanted, and only if you want”--Poe is always careful to leave an out for him, which is sweet--”you could bunk with me. I mean, they’re not technically bunks, we’d move in another bed for you, and it would be a bit cramped for two, but we’d make it work--”

“I’ll bunk with you.” It takes Poe a moment to realize Finn’s replied, and he snaps his mouth shut. “I think I’d like that a lot.” Poe’s smile is brilliant and delighted, and Finn is only now starting to understand how much trouble he’s in.

\--

Poe was serious about the room being tiny. There’s just about enough space for two beds, a dresser between them, and a locker at the foot of each bed. But he has a place to call his own, and he shares it with Poe. Thus, it’s perfect.

It’s time to go to bed, and Finn tries not to stare at Poe as he changes. Poe’s casual about pulling his shirt off, the curve of his lower back inviting closer inspection. Finn twists his fingers into his blankets. It’s not that he hasn’t been in close proximity to exposed flesh in barracks life, quite the opposite. But it’s the first time it’s happened with anybody that’s made him feel like this: shivery, excited, like he swallowed a swarm of butterflies. He’s never wanted to touch anybody like that before. He wonders if he asked, if Poe would let Finn do it. But the point is moot, because he wouldn’t, and his tongue won’t form the words anyways.

“Sleep well,” Poe says, getting under his blanket.

“You too,” he replies. He listens as Poe’s breathing gets deep and even, and turns to face the wall. Knights and Emperor, he is so, so fucked.

\--

One day, the General calls him into her office. It’s a cluttered mess, full of datapads and so many piles of flimsies they’re practically drifts, but there is a clear chair in front of her desk. She indicates he should sit in it, so he does. He tries not to be tentative or nervous about it, and fails, perching himself on the edge, straighter and more rigid than he probably needs to be.

“How are you feeling these days, Finn?” She asks. Her voice is kind, concerned in a way he’s never heard. She cares about everybody on the base, he knows, but she’s not _soft_ about it, not like she is now.

He thinks about it for a moment. His back doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as it did, although it does ache when a storm’s about to blow in. (Poe calls Finn his barometer, with a smile that makes him feel funny, but in a not unpleasant way.) He walks just fine without assistance, and he’s not winded when he runs anymore.

“Good,” he says. “I feel good.”

She smiles, like that’s exactly what she was hoping to hear. “I'm glad. Do you feel mission ready, though? I’m sending Poe out on a reconnaissance run, and I need someone with him who can watch his back.”

He nods so emphatically he nearly hurts his neck, and hopes that the General doesn’t notice. “Absolutely, ma’am. Whatever you need me to do, I will. And Poe--” he stops, because the words feel stuck in his throat. He’s saved Poe’s life, and Poe’s done so in turn. He offered Finn a name, and Finn accepted it. Poe’s been there for Finn every step of the way he could, and it’s overwhelming when Finn tries to think about it, much less verbalize; especially here, in front of the General.

She reaches across the desk and pats his hand. “You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want. I have every confidence you’ll keep him safe.” He nods, grateful for her understanding.

She passes him a datapad, presumably with information on the mission. The smile on her face now has a bit of amusement in it, tinged with some new understanding from their conversation. “Now go, you have a mission to pack for.” He salutes and flees the room.

\--

The pilots throw a party, the night before they have to leave. It is, ostensibly, a good luck send-off as well as a celebration of Finn’s recovery, but Finn just thinks they want an excuse to drink and have fun. He doesn’t mind being one.

Because it's a special occasion, somebody breaks out the good whiskey. Finn takes a sip, and it burns on the way down, woody and clean and bright. After the rest of the shot, he’s warm and buzzed, eventually sandwiched between Karé and Nien. Poe grins at him across the way, more than a little drunk. 

Finn pries himself out and sits down next to him. Poe slings an arm over his shoulders. He smells like liquor, but also some sort of cologne that makes Finn want to nose against his skin, inhale until he commits the scent to memory. Instead, he leans against Poe’s side, hoping it comes across as companionable.

"Having a good time?" Poe asks. His smile is softer now that he doesn't have to project it across the room, and it makes something in Finn’s chest shift and ache.

"Yeah, of course." He is, honestly, even if he’d rather be in their room, doing nothing at all. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable around people, but this is different from the communal messes and barracks of his previous life. It’s all just slightly too loud, raucous and uncontrolled in a way he’s not used to.

"Good. This is for you too, so enjoy it." There's something in Poe's eyes he can't read, but it’s gone after he takes a long drink of beer, his throat moving in a smooth line Finn tries not to stare at. 

They sit and watch the rest of the party for a while, and it’s kind of like being in their room, until Jess and Iolo pull them into the impromptu dance party that’s formed. The press of bodies and movement (both individual and communal) feels a bit like the Republic hedonism he was warned about in programming, but wrapped up in so much more joy and camaraderie than he expected. He and Poe both wake up hung over, but Poe’s tired smile over caf indicates he has no regrets about it. Finn would say the same, if he could find the effort to form the words.

\--

This part of the mission is remarkably uneventful, enough so that they’re able to finish their evaluation of this sector in about a day. The transport they’ve been given is small, with cramped enough crew quarters that the small tent they’ve brought feels luxurious, even though it’s about the size of their room. Upon stretching out in his bedroll, Finn revises that assessment, because Poe’s back is pressed up right against his. He tries not to enjoy it as much as he does before drifting off to sleep.

It’s the forest dream again. Sometimes it plays out as it did in real life, with Ren throwing Rey against the tree. He runs towards her, and she won’t wake up, no matter what he does. Other nights, he’ll see Poe, bloody and beaten in the chair, stark against the snow. Tonight Poe is the one thrown, and Finn runs over to where he lies unmoving, blood oozing from the back of his head. He startles into consciousness, breathing hard like he’s run for klicks, sweat cooling on his face and body.

In their room, the first couple times this happened Poe rolled over and pretended to sleep through it while Finn changed the sheets and his sleeping clothes. He’s progressed to checking in when they happen, a sleepy, inquisitive tilt of the head that Finn nods back at. He’s usually fine when he wakes up and sees that he’s in his own bed, but that extra bit of concern helps ground him even more.

(It makes him feel awkward when he hears Poe in the grip of those same sorts of terrors. He wants to get up and rub his back, the way he used to do with Slip: between his shoulders, right along his spine. He wants to ask Poe if it would be all right to curl around him, pretend it keeps the monsters and the dreams at bay. But the words sit heavy in his mouth, unable to traverse a line he doesn’t know if he should cross.) 

It must be something about the unfamiliar setting or this particular variation of the dream, but Finn can’t stop shaking. He knows Poe can feel it; there’s no way he can’t, being right there.

“You all right?” Poe says softly. He’s turned around to look at Finn, concern on his face.

“I don’t know.” It doesn’t feel like a very good answer to him, but Poe looks relieved that he isn’t in nightmare mode anymore: his shoulders are less tense, the worried line of his mouth relaxing. He can feel Poe’s arm shift, like he wants to reach out. Then the motion stops, as if he’s thought better of it. They lie there for a while, the rise and fall of their chests the only movement. 

Finn shivers, but this time from the chill in the air instead of his bad dreams. “It’s cold,” He says wittily, and maybe a bit miserably. The low temperature didn’t seem so bad when he was first falling asleep, but now it feels like it’s seeping into his bones.

“It is,” Poe agrees. “I thought our gear would be warm enough, but I guess I was wrong.” 

“Do these bedrolls zip together? Maybe we should do that, stay warmer. That was part of our training, back when--before.” In his defense, it was (is still?) standard procedure to share body heat in cold environment training, and something he’d done plenty of times with Slip, Nines and Zeros, all of them curled together in one giant heap. Of course, he’d never wanted to be close to them in precisely the same way he wants to do with Poe, but it’s similar enough that he thinks it would be all right.

“You know, I think they do.” Poe fumbles with the zipper on his, fingers clumsy from cold and lack of sleep. They manage to sort it out, still back to back like before, but warmer now that there’s not a layer of bedding between them. Finn drifts off to sleep again, and if he has any more dreams, he doesn’t remember them. 

Finn wakes up, feeling warmer at his front. At some point during the night, he’d shifted to wrap himself around Poe, an arm across his waist, knees tucked together. (He may also have drooled on Poe’s back, but that’s not something he wants to think about.) He freezes, trying to figure out if it would be more awkward to try and discreetly withdraw or pass this off as another part of stormtrooper training. 

Before Finn can make a decision, Poe stretches and rolls over onto his back, yawning. Finn snatches back his hand, like he expects to be caught. Poe catches Finn’s gaze and smiles, sweet and only half-awake. His hair is tousled, unkempt; and Finn bites his tongue because it’s just too much, this early in the morning. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asks Poe casually, desperate to change the subject but not be painfully obvious about it.

“Really well, actually.” Poe runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up even further. “I must have been more tired than I thought.” He tips his head, his smile warmer now, and Finn thinks he might actually die. “How about you?”

“Same.” 

“I’m glad,” Poe says, and Finn knows he means it, which makes it even worse. He gets up, about to duck through the opening of the tent before he stops. “I’m gonna go wash up in the shuttle. You need anything before I go?” 

Finn shakes his head, and Poe leaves. It was kind of a rough night; it would make sense that they’d both sleep harder than usual. That must be it, but he can’t help but feel a vague sense of disappointment regardless.

\--

The path along the cliff is not wide, but it isn’t so narrow that Finn has difficulty walking along it. He’s been taught to navigate iffy terrain, where to place his feet when the ground shifts below them, and how to keep his balance stepping over gaps and climbing over things. Poe’s doing his best, but it’s not anything he’s been trained for. He steps cautiously, as he should, but a bit of rock slips loose and he pitches towards the edge. 

Finn grabs the edge of Poe’s jacket and hauls him back to steadier ground. They press against the solid rock of the cliff face, waiting for their hearts to stop racing. Finn realizes he’s still clutching at Poe’s jacket, tight enough the zipper teeth are digging into his hand. He could use it to draw Poe towards him, rest his forehead against Poe’s shoulder. Maybe Poe would tip his head against Finn’s, brush his lips against his hairline. Poe’s staring at Finn’s hand, his lips parted, still breathing a little hard. It’s understandable; Finn’s still a little rattled himself. 

Finn drops his hand. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Poe’s voice is subdued, like he doesn’t feel like talking much. To be honest, neither does Finn. He walks forward a few paces and stops, turning back when he doesn’t hear steps behind him. Poe’s eyeing the path warily. Finn reaches out for Poe’s hand, gratified to feel fingers close around his. They walk back the rest of the way to camp hand in hand. It's slower, but if it makes Poe feel better, Finn doesn't mind at all.

\-- 

Dinner is quiet, with little conversation beyond the necessary. Finn’s poking at the remains of his field ration, trying to decide if it’s worse than the First Order’s. (There’s variety in the Resistance ones. It doesn’t mean they taste any better, just different kinds of terrible.)

Poe’s put aside his meal, not that he ate much of it to begin with. He’s looking at Finn with this anxious, unsettled expression, intense enough that it makes Finn shift uncomfortably.

“Can we talk? It’s kind of important.” Poe looks like he’d much rather do anything else, but he’s determined to get through this conversation no matter how difficult it is.

“Yeah, of course,” Finn says, uneasiness rising in his gut. 

“What is this?” He makes a motion that Finn assumes is supposed to encompass them. “What are we?” 

Finn says the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re my friend.” 

This is true. But it’s not all of it, not by a long shot. He doesn’t think being friends with someone makes your stomach flip when they smile at you, or your breath catch when they laugh at something you’ve said. You probably also don’t lie awake at night while they sleep across the room, wishing you could be more to them, if only they’d ask. Or you could.

“Is that all though?” Poe’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “It's driving me crazy, whatever this sly seduction routine you’re pulling is. You keep pressing up against me. You crawled into bed with me last night. You just held my hand on the entire walk back to camp! But you never do anything about it!” He runs his hand through his hair, making it stick out in all directions. It accentuates his air of distress. 

With dawning horror, Finn starts to understand how what he thought was standard procedure, being nice, could be--has been--misinterpreted. 

“I didn’t know,” he says. But that is not quite accurate. He was afraid to know, what it would mean if he did. And what he would do, with this knowledge. 

His brain finally catches up with his mouth and ears, the realization and wonder accompanying a new lightness in his chest. “You wanted me to do something about it.” 

“I did.” Poe’s smiling now, like he can’t contain his joy and relief. “I still do.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” Finn’s voice comes out remarkably steady, and he thanks the Force for small miracles. Poe nods, and Finn leans over.

Poe’s lips are soft, and he’s a little bit scratchy from stubble, but Finn doesn’t mind. He tastes like field rations and fruit-flavored soda, and it is so ridiculously, wonderfully ordinary Finn wants to laugh. (It occurs to him that he has been with the Resistance long enough for things to become ordinary, and that is also wondrous.) Poe’s hand slides against his neck, fingers at his nape, and Finn relaxes into it: resting, held, but not pinned down. 

It’s not just good, it feels _right_ , with Poe’s mouth against his, then the curve of his ear, stopping at a spot behind his lobe that makes Finn gasp. Their hands slide under each other’s shirts: inquisitive, exploring. It is also then they notice how cold it is outside.

Poe jerks his head in the direction of the tent. “Inside?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah.” 

They’re skin to skin from the waist up now, and Finn doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this, hands and heat and the sheer utter wonder of being able to touch Poe and be touched by him. It makes him want to be greedy, devour Poe’s mouth like he’s been starving all his life, but also savor it slowly, luxuriate, so he can remember every bit of this. 

Poe’s hand rests at the waistband of Finn’s pants, fingers dipping to stroke the curve of Finn’s hip. It is a gesture tender enough to be almost unbearable, and Finn has to stop for a moment, breathing into the curve of Poe’s neck. 

“Is this good? Do you not want to go further?” Poe’s voice is concerned. “This is your flight; you call the shots.” 

“I’m all right.” Finn presses a kiss to the top of Poe’s forehead. “Just needed a bit.” He reaches for the buckle on Poe’s belt. “Now help me get this off.” 

After enough fumbling and kicking in the small space of the tent, their pants no longer of concern, Finn looks up to see Poe gazing down at him. The curve of his mouth is soft, warm. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Finn has never thought much about how he looks, but if Poe says so, it must be true. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Finn is lying. Poe is beautiful, the low light of the utility lantern painting his hair and outlining the quiet marvel of his expression. It makes Finn’s breath catch for a second, before he tugs Poe down against him once more. 

Poe moves against Finn’s hip and makes a sound, needy and unreserved. It goes straight to Finn’s cock and he ruts back, noises of his own in response. Poe’s hand reaches between them, stroking his length. His hips twitch, and he feels Poe smile against his shoulder before he moves down Finn’s body.

“Is this okay?” Finn nods, and instantly his cock is surrounded with wet heat, exquisite and slick. Poe is thorough, methodical, his tongue and hand steady. He thinks he may crack open, taken apart like this, reverently, with such care.

Finn threads his fingers into Poe’s hair, and he can tell Poe likes it, the way he moans in the back of his throat. Experimentally he tugs, and _yeah_ , Poe’s definitely into that, so much so that Finn doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold on for much longer. He comes with his fingers knotted into Poe’s curls, brushing them out of Poe’s eyes when he can move his head again.

Poe kisses him gently, and Finn can taste himself, sour-salt-bitter on Poe’s tongue. He reaches for Poe’s cock, slick already, but the look in Poe’s eyes when he licks his hand makes it that much better. Poe comes, muffling his gasps into the side of Finn’s neck as he spills over Finn’s hand, his body. I’m marked, he thinks, stroking Poe’s head until he flops over beside him. 

He throws an arm over Poe’s chest, and Poe pulls their sleeping bag over them. He is drowsy, sated and heavy-limbed, and there is no better place he could think of to be. 

Before he drifts off to sleep, he mumbles into Poe’s shoulder. “I did something about it, wouldn’t you say?” 

Poe laughs, kisses him on the forehead. “Buddy, I can definitely say that was something.”

\--

They wake up, and begin breaking down the camp for the return to D’Qar. Not much is said, neither of them being morning people, but Poe smiles easily at Finn, a tenderness in them that wasn’t present before. The trip back is routine, boring even. (After as much excitement as they’ve had, Finn is not sure this is a bad thing.) 

The General requests an immediate debrief when they land, and so they leave the little transport to the care of the ground crew to give their report. As they walk away, Poe reaches out his hand. Finn takes it, and they walk to the main building on the base. The General does not comment when they arrive at her office, but she does smile when they enter.

**Author's Note:**

> The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world.
> 
> \--Warsan Shire


End file.
